


When D.C. Burned

by Fandoms_Are_Life37



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American History, Angst, Fights, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I'm so sorry, M/M, Poor America (Hetalia), The War of 1812, The White House burns down, War, Washington D.C., White House, and it doesn't have a happy ending, it's all very angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24632122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_Are_Life37/pseuds/Fandoms_Are_Life37
Summary: England finds America in the burning streets of Washington D.C. during the War of 1812.
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	When D.C. Burned

**Author's Note:**

> Word count: 1,714
> 
> Estimated read time: 9 minutes 30 seconds
> 
> Takes place during the War of 1812, however, this specific event is in 1814
> 
> Warnings: Angst, language

The flames reflected in Alfred's eyes as he looked around in horror. Everything was on fire and the heat was hurting his skin.

He dashed through the streets, searching frantically for more people. Up the street, he spotted a boy trapped underneath a beam.

Alfred ran to him, dropping down. "Are you okay?"

"My leg!" He cried, "It's stuck!"

Nodding, Alfred pushed against the beam with all his might. It didn't budge. Steeling his nerves, he tried again and was able to lift it just enough for the boy to roll out from underneath its weight. As soon as he was clear, Alfred let it fall back down.

"Is your leg hurt?"

The boy nodded.

"Where are your parents?"

"W- We tried to evacuate but they ran into the British troops by the Patuxent River. Our family got separated... I think my dad was shot, but I- I don't know!" He dissolved into tears, sobbing and clutching himself.

Alfred swallowed dryly. The smoke stung his throat and lungs, but he picked the boy up and looked around. The clearest path was to the left. He darted down the streets, holding the boy close to his chest.

He wove through buildings that were going up in flames and fallen debris. Narrowly, he dodged some stones that crumbled off the top of a high wall. Never looking back, he kept running until they were nearing the edge of the town. Not far off were the abandoned trenches where American soldiers had tried to hold off the British troops. Carefully, he made his way through the unsteady terrain and jumped down into one of the trenches.

Gently, he lowered the boy down. "You'll be safe here."

"Thank you."

"Of course."

Alfred sprang out of the trench and ran back into his burning capital. He still had citizens in there- no way he was leaving them to die.

Desperately, he darted back through the streets. A sharp pain struck him in the chest and he dropped to his knees, crying out. The heart of his nation was being destroyed, and along with it, his own heart.

But that wasn't what mattered. What mattered were the people that couldn't escape before the British took over. They needed help. He would press on- because that's what heroes do.

Alfred stumbled to his feet and kept going until he spotted an elderly woman. She was crouched in a corner, trying to get away from the blaze.

He went to her immediately, helping her to her feet and leading her out of the city. Looking off into the smoky skyline, he could see faint outlines of more enemy troops marching on D.C. Hatred seeped through his veins. He'd kill them for this.

Luckily, he got the old woman out of the city and into the trench beside the boy. They would take care of each other. Once again, he forged his way through the raging inferno.

His pace faltered when he looked up at the White House. It wasn't so white anymore. The walls were blackened and charred, the windows had combusted, and the rest had been engulfed.

His gut twisted and he reminded himself that at least the President and the First Lady were safe. Most of the people were, too, though he was scared to learn what the body count was when this was all over.

Capital Hill was glowing, too, but he ignored the destruction of his landmarks and the homes. The people: they were what mattered.

Alfred continued through the streets, eyes watering and coughing uncontrollably. Everything hurt.

He stopped in his tracks. Shouts were close. Were they frightened citizens or were they British soldiers looking for more people to kill, buildings to burn, and things to steal?

His question was answered when they rounded the corner. Four soldiers dressed in British military uniforms with bayonets in their hands were led by a familiar face.

Arthur Kirkland, also in a blood-red coat studded with golden buttons was in front of them. He stopped abruptly when he saw his former lover standing there with scorched, ash smeared clothes and burns dotting his body.

The soldiers raised their guns at him but Arthur held up his hand. "No."

"Sir?"

"Go on, I'll deal with this."

"Yes, sir." They said, leaving in an orderly fashion so typical of the English.

Alfred scowled. "Come to gloat?"

"No," Arthur said. He approached slowly, setting his bayonet down on the cobblestones. "What are you doing inside the city?"

"What do you think?"

Arthur looked confused. "I don't know."

He shook his head with a bitter laugh. "I'm trying to save my people."

"There are still people in the city? I thought everyone evacuated before we arrived."

"Not everyone could. I've already gotten ten out."

Arthur almost seemed to appear guilty. "I didn't know that. I... It wasn't my intention to hurt your people."

"No, of course not. Just me, right?"

He swallowed thickly. "This is war, America. What did you expect?"

"You're demolishing my capital."

"It... It wasn't the original plan. We were just going to capture it, but then things got out of hand. Are you okay?"

"What do you think?" Alfred spat. Beside him, some boards slipped from a burning roof, spraying sparks everywhere. He scrambled back, falling to the ground.

Arthur ran to him, crouching to help, but Alfred smacked his hand away. "Don't you dare fucking touch me."

Hurt flashed through his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't lie to me."

He looked around, glancing briefly at the White House. "It's the truth. But... you can still surrender. Maybe then I can convince them to put out the fires."

"Yeah. Wouldn't want to damage your brand-new, shiny, enslaved colony. No thanks."

"America, don't be like this. Please, just surrender. I don't want to hurt you."

"You're lying again."

"No, I'm not. I never, ever, wanted to hurt you. I still love you, goddamnit! If you don't surrender, you could die."

Alfred sat up and spit right in Arthur's face. "I'd rather die than be with you. Now get away from me."

Arthur wiped the spit from his face, looking back at his former colony with anger. "Why do you have to be so stubborn? Can't you see that I'm offering you a way out?"

"A way out of a trap you set. How could you do this to me?" Alfred asked, voice cracking and tears beginning to form in his eyes. He knew that they had a difficult past, but after their breakup, he assumed things would calm down. They'd avoid each other, but never did he dream Arthur would attack him.

"You hurt Canada!"

"Not like this. Never like this. Because unlike you, I know how to love someone other than myself. Canada is my brother and I never did anything I didn't have to do. He came out unscathed. Besides, we both know this is about France."

Arthur sighed. "Listen, I-"

"No, you listen, England! All I wanted was my freedom! All I wanted was to be my own person! What kind of sick, toxic relationship is it when one person controls the other? We weren't equals and you know it."

"You-"

"NO! You need to shut up for once in your life and listen to me! That was the whole problem to begin with, remember? You wouldn't listen! Now you're trying to mess up my relationship with France?"

Arthur's eyes widened. "You're already with France? I didn't think you were together yet."

"He treats me better than you ever did."

"That's not true!" Arthur protested, starting to cry, too, "I loved you! I still do!"

"France listens to me. He helped me get out of my relationship with you. He supports me. He was my very first ally. He has helped me get stronger when I was weak. He loves me."

"That's bullshit! He doesn't want you to be strong! That would threaten his own power!"

Alfred scoffed. "And who does that sound like?"

"You were fighting just a few years ago!"

"But we made up. Face it, England. We're over. I'm never coming back to you and you will never make me."

"Yes, I will. I'm going to win this war- just wait and see. And when it's all over, when we can talk it out, you'll finally understand. Then... then we can be happy."

"Fuck you."

Alfred was hit with another stab of pain in his chest and he doubled over, clutching himself and screaming. His vision swam and his head felt muddled. Every fiber in his being felt like it was burning.

Arthur stared at him in alarm. "America! America? Are you okay?" He put a hand on Alfred's arm, unsure of what to do.

Slowly, through gasps of pain, Alfred looked up, staring into Arthur's eyes and shoving his hand off. "Go to hell, England."

"Sir!" Called a solider from behind Arthur.

Arthur pivoted to see over his shoulder. "What?"

"Our troops, they're moving out. There's a hurricane on the horizon."

He felt his chest tighten. "Are you sure?"

"Certain, sir. We need to go right away."

Arthur looked back at Alfred, crumpled over in the burning street, pressing a hand to his chest, struggling to breathe, and crying. Nausea swept over him. What had he done?

"Sir?"

Shakily, Arthur stood up, taking a few steps back from the love of his life until he gathered the stamina to turn his back on him. Guilt ate him alive as he walked off down the street, grabbing his bayonet and leaving Alfred there to die.

He didn't look back, knowing that if he did, his willpower would crumble. Instead, he followed his soldier back to the ships in the harbor, waiting to get away before the hurricane hit.

As they set sail, he watched the fire rise in the distance. Smoke stained the night sky and he flinched as he heard the sound of an explosion from within the city.

"What was that?" He asked, whipping around to face one of the soldiers.

The soldier shrugged. "A crate of gunpowder must have gotten too hot or something."

Tears streamed down Arthur's cheeks as he returned to his quarters, the image of Alfred's broken body all alone in that hellish place still seared into his mind.


End file.
